


In a Manner of Speaking

by yourinsomnia



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Drunk Go, Innoshima!fic, M/M, flangst, how to turn Akira/Hikaru into a soap opera: a guide, more like years of UST, questionable Japanese geography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourinsomnia/pseuds/yourinsomnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years that Shindou did not take Akira with him to Innoshima and the one year he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enormous thanks to  meguri_aite  for beta, encouragement, and all the other awesome stuff she's done for the general betterment of this story (like working out Drunk Go rules with me). The title is from a [Nouvelle Vague song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uZlvKXnYU4) and is part of my[ Akira/Hikaru playlist](http://8tracks.com/yourinsomnia/we-are-stars). Subtle pimping is not subtle.

Touya Akira had to concede defeat. Shindou Hikaru was not paying attention to him.

Or rather, he was paying attention, but not to what Akira was saying. Instead, Shindou's gaze was suspended somewhere between Akira's head and the wall behind him.

Akira snapped his fingers over a cluster of stones on the goban. 

Shindou looked to where Akira was pointing, but Akira saw no comprehension flicker anywhere on the other boy’s face.

Akira thought he'd had about enough. “Shindou, are you okay?”

“Yes. What?”

“I asked you,” Akira enunciated each word with intensity he could not contain. Not now, not during their usual arguments. “If you were okay.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I am just. I don't know.”

Akira felt the fire go out in himself as instantly as it’d sparked.

“Shindou, go home,” he said, relying on the sternness in his voice to mask the strange protectiveness he felt about his rival.

“Yes, I think I will.” Shindou replied. “I am sorry.”

“It's fine,” Akira said and moved to clear the board. Shindou watched him for a few moments and then reached in to sweep off his own white stones.

Akira could only assume Shindou was still distracted by whatever it was that made him stare at the wall with a detached look in his eyes, and play badly, and wish to leave early when it had been a whole week since they had last played, _damn it_ , because little else could explain the strange way in which their hands ended up on the same side of the goban, moving stones in the same territory, dangerously close to getting into each other’s way, until, inevitably, their fingers brushed. It was a featherweight collision of skin against skin that didn’t last long, and would have gone completely undetected by Shindou if not for Akira jolting at the contact and withdrawing his hand entirely too fast, prompting Shindou to take notice as well and stare at his own hand, silhouetted against the goban, as though it had suddenly ceased to belong to him.

Akira looked down at his hands, now resting on his lap, but they offered absolutely no answers.

After they placed the last stones into the goke, Shindou stood up and lingered by the table with a nervous energy of someone who wanted to leave but didn’t know what to say in parting.

“Shindou,” Akira said quietly.

“Yes.”

“You are not okay.”

“Yeah.”

Akira did not expect the admission to come so easily. But then expectations were useless when Shindou was so marvelous at thwarting them at every turn.

“You haven't been doing so great on your Oteai games lately either,” Akira said.

“Uh. Yeah. You would notice,” Shindou said, his voice laced with amusement. 

Akira chose to ignore it and said, “Maybe you should go away somewhere for the holidays.”

“Yes, I am planning to,” Shindou replied and, unexpectedly, smiled. One of his carefree smiles that radiated off him like the light of the spring sun reflected from a huge body of water. Akira felt pinned down by the weight of it and wondered idly if Shindou often smiled at his friends like that and if it made them feel the way it had made Akira feel—untethered and trapped all at once.

***

Akira didn’t plan to leave with Shindou, but on that particular night the thought of staying behind at the go salon by himself seemed dreadfully unappealing.

They stood on the threshold of the entrance, watching the world get washed away by what could only be described as a tropical storm.

“You don't have an umbrella?” Akira asked, fiddling with his own.

Hikaru shook his head and simply walked out into the rain.

“Shindou, wait!”

Akira caught up with him and positioned the umbrella over their heads.

“I can walk you to the station,” Akira said.

“I don't mind,” Shindou replied.

Akira doubted there were a lot of things Shindou minded right now so it was probably acceptable to accompany him. 

The rain pelted at their sides as they walked slowly, in contrast to the masses of people hurrying past them with a barely contained aura of annoyance. Akira clutched at the umbrella, all the while acutely aware of just how close Shindou was—their shoulders hovering mere centimeters from each other, and sometimes connecting in brief explosions of warmth. So close that it would have been easier if Shindou slipped his hand around Akira’s and held on to him.

But Shindou did no such thing.

As they waited for their light at an intersection, for a few moments the downpour abated just enough for the silence between them to grow louder than the splattering on the sidewalk.

Akira couldn’t read Shindou’s expression as the other boy stared him down. When the light turned green, Shindou was still not moving.

“Hey,” Akira said.

“You are getting all wet because of me. Like I said, I don't mind,” Shindou said and walked out from the under the umbrella.

Soon enough Shindou got completely drenched—his blonde bangs a tangle indistinguishable from the rest of his hair, his red shirt a vivid crimson stain against his pale skin, the water streaming down his arms, unto his jeans, turning them dark.

Akira watched the phantom who’d replaced his rival walk in front of him and suddenly felt an urge to do away with his own umbrella. Which was ludicrous, and irrational, and served no other purpose than to, perhaps, indulge Akira’s own burning curiosity to know how it felt to walk like that—without a care for anything in the world.

Akira closed the umbrella.

His clothes got wet very fast and clung to his skin. 

Shindou was still walking a few steps ahead and didn’t notice anything amiss in Akira’s appearance. He probably wouldn’t, too, until they got to the station. Several times Akira considered going the other way and disappearing quietly into the night, because clearly, Shindou didn’t need him or his umbrella. But he didn’t, and somehow his perseverance paid off because at some point Shindou stopped.

“Touya,” Shindou said without turning around.

“Yes?” came the reply from Akira, who’d never taken his eyes off him.

“Would you come with me…” Shindou said, and the quiet of his voice drowned in the rain.

Akira wanted to ask him to speak up, but a flickering, incessant and sharp, caught his attention. He looked up at the solitary lamp which illuminated the street and its blinking made Akira think of lighthouses calling out to ships lost at sea.

“Where is your umbrella?” he heard Shindou ask. He was facing Akira now.

“You are right. It wasn’t much help,” Akira replied, smoothing back his bangs.

Hikaru laughed. “Umbrellas are so pointless, aren't they? Humans went to the Moon but umbrellas are still umbrellas.”

Akira was not sure whether Hikaru had gone momentarily insane or was merely attempting to make a profound point about umbrellas and the moon or maybe even something completely ubiquitous like the things that connect the past and the present, but he supposed that if one of them should remain sane, it should be Akira. “They get the job done. Anything more elaborate would be excessive,” he said and bit his lip, because god, it sounded ridiculous. He really wasn’t that good at carrying conversations he didn't quite get.

But perhaps it was good enough for Shindou, because he looked at him with a concentration of someone working out a rather obscure riddle and, then, by the guidance of the same enigmatic volatility that Akira had observed in him all day, a transformation instantly lit up his face, his features relaxing and the line of his mouth almost quirking into a smile.

“Shindou, you were going to ask something before?” Akira asked, shivering against the rising wind.

“Huh? Oh, right...Never mind that. Race me?” he challenged with a smile, and then ran off, stomping on a puddle and leaving a stream of dirty rainwater in his wake.

It only took a second for Akira to process his response and take off after Shindou. He caught up at the end of the walkway that lead into the station and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Shindou, you really are insane,” he said, breathless.


	2. Year 2

Touya Akira had always been a man of habits and discipline, and that was definitely the only reason why he felt disappointed when Shindou Hikaru called him up a few days before their regularly scheduled Thursday meeting at the Go Salon and cancelled it, citing previous engagements.

“Oh, I see,” Akira said and mentally reprimanded himself for letting the echoes of dejection manifest in his voice.

“Yeah. So I guess, the week after.” Shindou’s voice was so quiet, it could have been transmitting from space.

“Alright.”

An awkward pause ensued, and Akira realized that this was not the first time their phone conversation took a turn for disastrous. Akira had never liked talking on the phone, not with anyone, but with Shindou Hikaru it had always been approximately a hundred times worse and he didn’t really understand why it had to be that way. Things weren’t always simple between them, far from it, but the fact that non face-to-face communication brought down their ability to form coherent sentences to absolute zero was at least somewhat puzzling.

If someone pointed a gun to Akira’s head, he was sure he could come up with a million things to say to Shindou. Things like, 'I am looking forward to your Meijin preliminary games', 'Did you notice? It's warm enough to walk in the rain without an umbrella', 'Why can't you come? Is everything alright?'

But there was no gun and Akira remained stoically silent.

A woman's voice boomed on the other end of the line, screaming 'Hikaru' and something that sounded suspiciously like 'laundry' and 'socks'.

“Oh, crap...Sorry, Touya. I have to go. I will see you next week.”

It was only when they hung up that Akira realized that Shindou got it wrong. It was not next week...Before that, they were both playing at the Go Institute on Friday. Akira was sure since he’d remembered seeing Shindou’s schedule. Now the question was, why didn’t Shindou remember his own schedule?

***

The following Friday morning Akira was hardly surprised when he didn’t see Shindou’s name on the schedule board.

“Waya!” Akira yelled, feeling the first tendrils of panic set in.

There was no Waya Yoshitaka anywhere in sight Akira realized, as he turned around to face the game room. Instead, at least a dozen or so faces of Go players regarded him disapprovingly.

Akira closed his eyes and pictured Go stones sliding down a goban—one of the mental images he’d sometimes employ to unwind himself. He kept at it until he felt safe enough to proceed to the lounge where he did manage to locate Waya. And Isumi by his side, of course. The two of them were glued to a publication that was decidedly not Go Weekly, since, to the best of Akira’s knowledge, Go Weekly did not usually include gratuitous spreads of motorcycles.

Akira hovered nearby for a few moments, hoping his determination alone would alert them to his presence. No such luck befell him, as the pros seemed completely engrossed in the magazine. 

“Where is Shindou?” Akira asked when he couldn’t take it anymore.

Waya glared at their assailant. Isumi calmly looked up from the magazine.

“No clue. We are not the ones obsessed with him and his whereabouts,” Waya huffed out.

Akira resisted doing something stupendously unclassy such as driving his fist into a wall (although that had happened before, under somewhat similar circumstances, his memory supplied most unhelpfully) and decided to channel his violence into something else.  
Namely, his voice.

“Waya,” Akira bit out. “Shindou was scheduled to play today. Instead, he cancelled or rescheduled. Why would he do that?”

“He cancelled? I don’t know. Vacation? Family business?” Waya pondered, with an air of disinterest that, Akira was sure, had little to do with how Waya actually felt about Shindou and the matter at hand.

On most days, Akira found Waya’s open dislike of him bordering on charming. Today, however, was not one of those days.

Akira turned to leave but stopped when Waya spoke up again, addressing Isumi.

“Don't you need to reschedule games way in advance?”

“Not necessarily,” Isumi replied, putting the magazine away. “You can call in case of an emergency and reschedule.”

“Hm, emergency? You don’t think Shindou is sick, do you?” Waya asked, frowning.

“No. Or he might be,” Isumi said, getting up and looking directly at Akira. “In a manner.”

Akira waited for Isumi to elaborate. But he said nothing, his expression a frustrating lack of either challenge or cordiality.

“Something is going on,” Ways said, looking between them. “Isumi-san, explain please?”

“It was around this time of the year, two years ago, that Shindou skipped out on his matches,” Isumi said, breaking his eye contact with Akira.

“What do you know about it?” Akira asked.

Isumi shrugged. “Probably as much as you do.”

“But what about last year? He played all his games. It was fine,” Waya said.

“Yes,” Akira agreed. “But last year he had no games scheduled either before or after Golden Week.”

“And you would remember this how, precisely?” Waya asked, his voice a little strained, and then quickly added,—“No, please, don’t answer.”

Akira really wasn’t going to.

***

The following Saturday morning Akira called Shindou’s house. His mother picked up and informed him that her wayward son was away somewhere. “Maybe a Go convention?”, she ventured, “Didn’t you go with him?”, and mused that he should be back by Monday, “Didn’t those kind of things take place over the weekend?”

Akira was not aware of any Go conventions, which meant that no Go conventions were happening anywhere. Which also meant that Shindou was not at one and that something was deeply wrong.

He felt it in his gut, and perhaps he had always known that something was not right with Shindou, the way he knew everything about him, and the strangest thing of all was that, despite the fact something was wrong with Shindou, things weren’t exactly right with Akira either.

He still played his matches of course, even had dinner with Ogata-san, hosted a study session at home, and managed to win. Most of the time. He was fine, he looked fine to anyone who didn’t look hard enough, and no one did, except for Shindou, really, and most importantly, he could be fine. It’s just that he didn’t want to be fine, because being fine without Shindou felt a little hollow at best.

Feeling restless, he stayed in his room, listening to the sounds of the rain, and wishing that wherever Shindou was, he wasn’t caught in the terrible downpour hammering at his windows. 

***

Naturally, on Sunday, Akira found himself at the doorstep of Shindou’s residence. He hesitated before ringing the bell, doubting with renewed intensity his decision to come. And to come without calling ahead first, no less. But after he’d agonized over his impudence all of Saturday, Sunday morning and the train ride over, he supposed that if there was ever a time to be brave, it was now.

Akira rang the bell and waited. Mitsuko-san opened the door and beamed at him.

“Hikaru just came back! Go on upstairs.”

Akira exhaled. _Hikaru is back._

He made his way upstairs and paused in front of the bedroom door, feeling like an intruder all over again. But before he’d come to decision on whether he wanted to leave or knock, Shindou opened the door in his face.

Naked, disheveled Shindou, Akira ascertained, and stifled a gasp, more from the shock of seeing his rival so suddenly rather than the state of Shindou’s undress, which, admittedly, was not complete—Shindou was also wearing shorts and had a towel draped over his shoulders.

“Touya! What are you doing here?” Shindou asked, probably genuinely surprised by Akira’s uninvited appearance underneath the calmness completely inappropriate for someone who’d just almost ran down his rival whilst being half-naked.

Before Akira could reply, he had to take a deep breath. When he’d managed that, he said, “I am...You rescheduled your Oteai games.” That should have explained everything but it didn’t. Not even to Akira’s own ears.

“Right,” Shindou said as though it did explain something to him. “Come in.” He waved to the bedroom door.

“I am sorry...were you?” Akira nodded to the towel.

“Oh, yeah. I was going to take a bath. But it’s fine. We can talk first.”

“No, please.” Akira didn’t know for how much longer he would’ve been able to keep the treacherous blush off his cheeks, but, likely, not for long. Even the fact that it was dark in the hallway would not save him from Shindou noticing. “I feel bad enough for intruding. Don’t let me keep you from your bath.”

“It’s alright. It can wait,” Shindou said and moved away to let Akira into the bedroom.

“Hikaru.” Hikaru? Akira didn’t remember the last time he’d called Shindou by his given name and couldn’t really explain what warranted it this time. “I feel bad enough for not calling ahead, I would hate to keep you from…” Akira trailed off involuntarily, unable to fathom ‘Hikaru’ and ‘bath’ in the same sentence, let alone utter it.

“Oh, jeez. Fine, I will make it quick. Just wait in my room, will you?”

“Thank you.”

Akira waited for Shindou to pass him—with his still-very-much-naked-torso—before he made for the bedroom door.

Standing in the middle of Shindou’s room some minutes later, next to the goban, which in Akira’s experience had always proven to be the safest place to gravitate to in any situation, he found the experience of finally having a glimpse into Shindou’s personal space almost anti-climactic. Shindou’s desk was littered with kifu, a travel bag lay sprawled in a corner, and his bookshelf was overflowing with manga and go books, but aside from that the room looked almost bland, and definitely not messy in the way their hotel rooms always became disaster zones by the end of their stay, or the way Shindou sometimes treated the guest room at Akira’s house—throwing his belongings everywhere and leaving them behind, only to have an excuse to come back for them the next day. 

Not knowing what to do with himself, Akira walked over to the bookshelf and ran his fingers across various go books, issues of Shounen Jump, and tomes of manga titles which he didn’t recognize. He paused in front of an older edition of “Shuusaku’s Best Games", surprised by how striking the contrast was between its tattered spine and the rest of the books on the shelf. He opened it and leafed through the yellowing pages, inhaling dust, and only distantly registering the records of games and the text in-between. He intended to put the book back when a scrap of hard paper, protruding from the back of the book, caught his attention. It wasn’t a bookmark as Akira had initially assumed. It was a postcard that depicted a white bridge going over two islands; a mesh of blue seas against blue skies. Akira shoved the book back and turned the card over in his hands several times, though it contained no writing or anything else of interest.

That was how Mitsuko-san found him when she entered the room with a tray of tea and pastries.

“I hope you like strawberry shortcake,” she said and placed the tray by the goban, perhaps thinking that Akira was there for a game and that’s where the boys would ultimately end up.

“Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

“Ah, Innoshima?” Mitsuko-san said, nodding to the postcard. “Hikaru sure likes Innoshima.”

Akira was about to ask what she meant by that when the boy in question himself made an appearance. Still in shorts and a towel resting on his shoulders, though now stray drops fell on it from his wet hair.

“You went to Innoshima,” Akira said, before he even realized he was going to say it.

Shindou looked at the postcard in Akira’s hand and went very still.

“Well, then.” Mitsuko-san looked between them and left the room.

Shindou sat down by the goban and proceeded to towel dry his hair with a bit more viciousness than was strictly necessary.

Shuusaku was from Innoshima. Of course Akira knew that in a way that people sometimes know things without caring to know, and now he also knew that’s where Shindou had been. He should’ve figured it all out on his own, really, it was obvious. Everything was so obvious, except it wasn’t, and Akira was as close to the truth as he was years ago, which is to say, not at all; Sai, Shuusaku and Shindou, connected by their invisible lines, had always been a constellation beyond his reach.

Akira was so lost in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that Shindou was speaking.

“What?” Akira asked.

“Were you worried about me or something?” Shindou asked again. He’d abandoned his hair drying mission and settled on pouring them tea.

“Worried?” Akira repeated numbly, his mind racing with a million possibilities of what exactly answering this question would require him to confess.

The steam rose from a cup Shindou held close to his lips, but he did not drink from it.

“Touya, sit,” Shindou ordered.

Akira put the postcard on Shindou’s desk and took his place across the goban.

“Play me,” Shindou said in a tone that warned Akira against refusing.

“Like this?” Akira waved at the fuseki laid out there.

“Yes. I will be black.”

Their game wasn't a quick one. By the time they’ve finished playing the sun began to set, flooding the room in a warm, orange glow. A breeze floated in from the open windows, promising a cooler evening. Shindou still hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, and if his hard nipples were anything to go by, he was cold. Akira had to look away.

“I knew I couldn’t win this game,” Shindou said, not addressing anyone in particular.

Akira had won by two moku and couldn’t begin to imagine what compelled Shindou to make such sweeping statements. He brought his attention back to the goban and his eyes could still vividly discern the outlines of the fuseki amidst a pile of stones strewn thick across the board.

Akira felt the urge to inquire rise in him with nauseating urgency. But he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t. Because that yearning to ask, to demand until he got what he wanted, until he knew everything, had been with him for years now, and he’d managed to tame it and conceal it somewhere deep within himself, without any chance of it gnashing open before its appointed time. Before Shindou came to him himself and said, “I will tell you”.

The possibility that that might never happen made Akira’s resolution not to ask only stronger.

“It was supposed to have gotten easier,” Shindou spoke again, burrowing his fingers into the goke. “But I still want…” He paused, and Akira silently watched him walk towards the breaking point.

“Just one more game,” Shindou said, and the first tears streamed down his cheeks, his gaze still fixed at the goban, eyes so dark, they seemed catatonic.

Akira sucked in a breath, because it hit him too, the fall and break of pieces that Shindou held together through sheer act of willpower, all the time, all these years, and even though Akira had expected Shindou to come undone, he did not expect to be taken along.

Without dwelling on what exactly he was doing, Akira walked over and sat down in front of Shindou, who, if he noticed, didn’t show it. Ignoring the hollow expression in his eyes, Akira leaned in, until their knees touched and his lips were pressed against Shindou’s cheek. Shindou didn’t immediately pull away. He didn’t move at all and they stayed like that until the moment escaped beyond Akira’s grasp and morphed into a sequence of sensations and smells that he’d only managed to parse out much later and never fully. At some point Akira must have parted his lips, because he remembered the taste of salt and skin and the spring wind on his tongue, and the accompanying smell of Shindou’s shampoo, a light scent that was distinctly Shindou and not unfamiliar to Akira, but in that moment seemed strangely overwhelming.

And at some point he must have pulled away, because when he finally came to himself, Shindou was some distance away, his eyes wide and turned to him. His hand was on his cheek, just where Akira’s lips had been.

Akira got up to leave.

When he was at the door, Shindou said—“Akira.” Just like that. As if nothing happened at all.

When it most certainly had. They’ve called each other by their first names in one day. Somewhere out there an apocalypse had been set in motion.

“You didn’t try the cake,” Shindou said.

“Cake?” Akira asked.

Shindou walked past him and grabbed a plain white shirt from the closet. “Go ahead, have some,” he insisted, pulling it over his head.

Akira threw a sideway glance at the pieces of cake, abandoned by the goban, and concluded that nothing made sense in the world.

A few minutes later they sat opposite each other once again, eating cake. It was overly sweet and creamy and Akira did not really like it but he didn’t say anything.

“Around the same time next year...Would you like to come with me? To Innoshima?” Shindou asked, casually scooping up a piece of strawberry.

Not having any faith at all in the strength of his voice, Akira simply nodded.


	3. Year 3

Shindou had developed a convenient habit of forgetting that Akira hated sweets. Probably all for the sake of tormenting him with it. 

“Try some,” Shindou said, sticking a chocolate ice cream cone into Akira’s face.

“I don’t want it,” Akira said, willing himself to look away from the distraction that comprised of melted chocolate ice cream all over Shindou’s lips. Was it Shindou’s directive in life to be as messy as possible? Messy go, messy clothes, messy ice cream eating habits...

“You have no soul. Only people with no soul don’t like ice cream.”

“If I have no soul, then you have one of a pig. We just ate an enormous serving of onomichi ramen. How you can continue to stuff yourself is simply beyond me,” Akira said and braced himself for a scathing retort from Shindou, who would mostly certainly not appreciate being likened to a pig. To Akira’s surprise, none came. Instead, Shindou gave him a half-pleased, half-weary smile that bespoke of more important things on his mind, and looked out towards the sea where seagulls glided along the surface of the water.

It was a beautiful spring day that they spent traversing across Innoshima and the various Shuusaku memorial spots. Most of the people they’ve met seemed to remember Shindou and plenty of them, including half of the local go salon, even went as far as being completed enamored with him.

There was a time when Akira had almost envied Shindou for his ability to make people like him so effortlessly. But at some point he decided that it was silly to be envious of something that he himself had come to appreciate in Shindou. It wasn’t something that he was consciously aware of until...well, until they'd gotten closer, or even something that he fully understood even now, but though he could not properly name it—he definitely felt it.

And he felt it now to the point of acute finality, as he sat by Shindou’s side, and his mere presence warmed him to his core.

Or perhaps that was just the afternoon sun heating up, Akira thought as he raised one arm to shield himself from it.

***

“Shindou. We are lost,” Akira said.

“We are not,” Shindou insisted, fumbling with the map. “We’ve been going up Tohoshiki lane all this time. We should come upon...Um, what is this street.” Shindou peered into the map, struggling to decipher the small print.

“It’s been a while. Shouldn’t we have come across it by now?”

“Uh, yeah. Did we miss it? We should ask someone.”

It was an unusually quiet evening, with only a few cars passing them by and not a single person in sight.

“Give me the map,” Akira said, practically ripping it from Shindou’s hands.

“Did you say we were supposed to be following Tohoshiki Lane?”

“Yes.”

“And are you aware that there are two Tohoshiki Lanes?”

“What?” Shindou asked, sticking his face into the map as well.

“See here? It’s on this side of the mountain and the other side. We should have approached it from the other side.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed”

“Touya.”

“What.”

“Is there any chance in the hell that is this life we are going to make it to the other side of the mountain before we die from exhaustion and ramen deprivation?”

“I think we will be alright with that last one. Come.”

Before long, the road evened out and turned to the east. The slope they’ve been battling for the past hour or so was behind them. Akira took one last chance to turn around and admire the sun as it plunged into the twilight ocean behind them.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Shindou said.

Akira could almost hear the smile in Shindou’s voice.

“Hey, I am sorry,” Shindou said.

“For getting us lost?”

“No. We are not lost, are we? We are just off-course. We know exactly where we are going.”

Akira searched his rival’s face for a trace of amusement, or anything that would give away that Shindou wasn’t as appallingly serious about whatever it was he was alluding to. But there was nothing except a kind of pensiveness the came about from being outside all day.

“Right,” Akira said. “Let’s go.”

By the grace of some unnamed deity, they managed to come across a combini soon after. It was stifling hot inside the tiny store. The first thing that drew Akira’s attention was a red cat the size of a mountain lion that stood guard atop a shelf of octopus chips. Then Akira spotted a human—a girl with flowing black hair who sat behind the counter reading manga.

“Welcome,” the girl said in a monotone voice. The cat hissed at them.

Shindou wasted no time and disappeared into the back of the store.

“Here, here, Red. Be nice.” The girl petted the cat as it jumped down on the counter.

“Hello,” Akira said, going for utmost politeness, more for cat’s, than the human’s sake. “We are trying to make our way to Taisho. Would you happen to know how long it will take us from here?”

“Taisho Ryokan, eh? That place closed down last summer.”

“Are you sure?” Akira asked and sent a look in the direction from which Shindou could be heard ravishing various food shelves that he hoped would burn down everything in its path, including Shindou.

“Yeah, pretty sure. Not many travelers around here. You are better off with Saito Ryokan down by the port.”

“We just came from there,” Akira muttered and went off to accost Shindou.

“I thought you’ve been here before,” he said, coming up on Shindou, who’d now stood pondering drinks by the fridge.

“Yes, why?” Shindou asked.

“The place! It closed down,” Akira said, feeling the first explosions of a headache.

“Oh, I guess my guidebook is outdated.”

“You guess? You guess?” Akira repeated, rubbing his temples. “Why didn’t you call and get us a room?”

“Well, I didn’t know we were going to stay there. I thought maybe we would stay somewhere else. Remember I asked you, ‘beach or forest’”?

Akira vaguely remembered. Did he say ‘forest’?

“Whatever. We will stay where I usually stay then,” Shindou said, grabbing about 10 different assortments of drinks.

“Shindou, are you stocking up for a national disaster?”

Shindou said nothing in reply and moved past him defiantly.

“Did you take Tohoshinki Lane?” The girl asked as Shindou deposited an unaccountable range of products on her counter. “You are better off hiking straight down Okuyama.”

“There is a hiking path?” Akira asked, coming up and reaching in for the map tucked away in Shindou’s back pocket. It was a quick movement, yet Shindou found an opportunity to insert a weak ‘Hey!’, just as Akira’s hand ghosted over his ass.

“Yup,” the girl replied, counting the various items with languor that seemed characteristic of her whole life. “It’s a nice hiking path leading down. It’s even paved in some places. And it’s much faster than taking the road.”

“It’s a forest though,” Shindou said, looking at the map over Akira’s shoulder.

“It’s sort of like a forest, yes. But it’s perfectly safe and well taken care of.” The girl smiled, and her giant cat turned up her nose at the proceedings, though what displeased it so much Akira could not say.

***

“Alright. I know you want to say it,” Shindou said.

Akira kept walking and said nothing.

“You do want to say it, don’t you? ‘It’s all your fault,’” Shindou said, putting on, what Akira considered to be an atrocious imitation of his own voice. “I can feel it emanating from you.”

“Can you now.”

“See? That’s what I mean. Just yell at me like you usually do. Otherwise, this is weird.”

Akira was contemplating gracing Shindou with an answer, when he felt the ground jerk beneath his feet. Shindou, who’d been walking close, too close for Akira’s comfort, but probably fortunate for occurrences such as this, expertly caught his hand and held him in place.

Akira looked back and saw the thick sprawling root he’d just almost tripped over.

“You alright?” Shindou asked, his hand still a hot weight on Akira’s skin.

“Yeah. Thank you,” Akira said and moved away. “I am not angry at you, Shindou. I am angry at myself for entrusting you with directions and believing that you are somehow capable of securing us a hotel room,” Akira said, ignoring Shindou’s indignant scoff. “And this route. Well, I was the one who insisted on it.”

“No, no way. We are not going there,” Shindou fired off with one look at the rusted gates of the hiking path that lead into unnatural darkness. Akira didn’t exactly relish the prospect either, but he’d grabbed Shindou’s hand anyway and said, “It will be faster. Let’s just get on with it."

The path was very badly tended to and clearly not meant for night-time traipsing. Most of the time, the moonlight was enough to guide them along the circuitous trail. At other times, the surroundings melded into wavering shadows and contours and Akira wondered how they had not strayed off the path yet. Perhaps they had and were walking in circles and would continue to do so until the end of time. 

“Faster way, my ass,” Shindou muttered, voicing Akira’s precise sentiments.

Akira spotted a log overturned by the road and headed towards it.

“Shindou, what have you got in those bags?” he asked and sat down on the drier section of the log. The section was not very large, which meant that Shindou would have to sit down right next to him—a theme that Akira had trouble avoiding in their recent interactions.

“See, all these snacks are extremely useful right now. I have a sixth sense about these kind of things,” Shindou said and rummaged through the bags.

“Sixth sense, huh,” Akira said.

“Rice ball?” Shindou asked.

“Please.”

The day had been veritably hot, but the night had plunged the temperature into barely tolerable coldness. Not that variations in temperature had any effect whatsoever on the likes of Shindou, but Akira found himself less immune, and was forced to put on a sweater.

They ate quietly, the canvas of the night sky and the moon illuminating them from above.

“It’s quite nice here actually,” Shindou said, once they were done with the their rice balls.

Akira nodded.

“It’s almost hard to believe the city is somewhere out there. It feels like we are so far away. And there is no one out there at all,” Shindou mused.

“Yes, except they are out there. There are probably murderers trying to hide bodies here as we speak,” Akira said, deciding that a healthy dose of realism wouldn’t hurt.

“What? Murderers? You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. If I was a serial killer this is exactly where I would hide a body. Easy to get to since it’s right off the main road but also conveniently abandoned.”

Akira’s lips twitched at Shindou’s horrified expression.

“You know, if you are trying to scare me, it’s not working.”

“Of course not,” Akira said and concealed his smile by moving to get up. 

“What was that?” Shindou asked.

“What?”

“That noise? Did you hear it?”

Akira didn’t at first, but after a few moments of straining he managed to discern a low screeching sound, faraway and faint, but most likely not conjured up solely by the power of Shindou’s imagination.

“It’s probably a rodent,” Akira said sounding more sure than he felt. “But we should go.” 

As they went further down the mountain, the moon, which had previously stood stark against the muted blackness of the night, disappeared behind the clouds, taking with it a substantial chunk of the visibility of the path before them.

“I bet that girl from the store is a fox in disguise who sent us here to feed the local demons.” Shindou proclaimed.

“She had a cat. Cats don’t hang around foxes,” Akira said and immediately wondered why he was indulging Shindou’s lunacy.

“What is that?” Shindou asked.

“What?”

“That shadow over there.”

“That’s a rock.”

“That’s an awfully huge rock.”

“Shindou, your mind is playing tricks on you.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Shindou asked, his voice heavy in what, Akira suddenly perceived, as incredibly eerie silence.

Akira stopped and whirled on Shindou.

“No. I don’t. Although…”

“Although?” Shindou watched him curiously.

“My grandmother likes to tell a story of how our grandfather’s ghost had visited her once,” Akira said and resumed walking.

“And? Do you believe it?” Shindou asked, catching up to him.

“It’s a peculiar thing,” Akira replied. “Grandmother is not superstitious. For her to say something like that...She must’ve had her reasons. My whole family believes it.”

“But you don’t?”

“I….” Akira stopped mid-step as a terrifying sound ripped through the sky and echoed across the peaks of the trees. Akira covered his mouth to stop himself from shrieking and grabbed Shindou’s arm.

“What was that?” Akira asked.

“I am pretty sure that was a bird,” Shindou said and tried to unclaw Akira’s hand. That proved difficult as Akira’s grip was quite resolute. 

Shindou cocked his head at Akira, observing him for a few moments, and then broke out into helpless laughter.

Akira let go of Shindou’s hand and hastily assumed a mask of composed indifference.

“Oh god, Touya, you should’ve seen your face,” Shindou said, trying and failing not to laugh more.

“If we somehow live through this ordeal, I promise to beat you at every single game into the next millennia,” Akira said, walking away. 

“You will try,” Shindou smirked and went after him.


	4. Year 3 (cont)

“Shindou,” Akira said sternly.

“What? Don’t be a prude. I need it after all the horrors I’ve experienced today,” Shindou said, placing the cans of Asahi beer on the small table between them. “Want one?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. I am sure you need one too.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” Shindou insisted and popped open one for himself, looking entirely too refreshed and carefree in his matching blue yukata, his skin flushed by a prolonged soak in a bath.

Akira couldn’t help feeling slightly bitter because his own soak lasted mere three minutes, all on account of Shindou making lots of weird noises as he stepped into the neighboring tub. The noises were probably just his expression of physical pleasure at the contact with hot water, but were still completely indecent.

“You are done already?” Shindou asked, just as Akira stepped out of the tub and struggled to drape himself in a towel from head to toe. The towel was nowhere large enough for that because he only managed to cover his front, leaving his naked back completely exposed and open for Shindou's view.

“Yes,” Akira said, realizing that there was a very good reason rivals didn’t take baths together.

His only consolation upon returning to their room was the hot tea left for them on the table. Which had grown remarkably colder in the time it took Shindou to come back.

Akira swirled the empty teacup in his hand, wondering if there was any way to procure more hot water.

“I’ve got it! Let’s play Drunk Go,” Shindou exclaimed.

Akira blinked at him. “Absolutely not. What is Drunk Go?”

“It’s a go drinking game. You take a shot...well, in our case, a swig, whenever your stones touch the opponents’.”

“Every single time our stones touch?”

“Pretty much.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. You need to respond to your opponent’s hands. Otherwise your game will suffer.”

“Touya, the point of drinking games is not to avoid drinking. It’s to encourage it.”

“Still. That’s a lot.”

“Ah, well. I might have mixed-up the rules a bit. When I played Drunk Go at Waya’s house we took a shot for every ten moku our opponent captured. But hey, we are drinking beer here. Why, Touya,” Shindou smiled, obviously thinking himself clever, “scared you will lose?”

“No,” Akira replied, keeping his voice even. “And I am not letting you talk me into defiling the sanctity of go through an act of underage drinking”

“Defiling the sanctity of go?” Shindou rolled his eyes. “You are absolutely ridiculous. How about an incentive then?”

“There is nothing you can offer me,” Akira said, even though he hadn't meant for that to come out as such a blatant challenge.

“Oh, really?” Shindou narrowed his eyes. “How about this, then... if you win you get to ask me one question, and I promise I will answer it truthfully.”

“Really? Any question?” Akira asked, assuming a patronizing tone, because really, there was no way it was just any question.

“Yes. Any question. ‘Who was Sai?’ ‘What’s your connection to Shuusaku?’ ‘How did you play so good when we first met while looking like you never held a stone?’ Any of these questions is fair game.”

Akira really hoped he wasn’t gaping.

“You _are_ serious,” he said finally.

“Yes,” Shindou said, leaning back on his arms, his face disappearing into the shadows of the room. “So, you are up for it?”

Strangely, Shindou’s taunting made Akira recall the game they played a year ago at Shindou’s house. It was a hazy memory at this point, but some details were still thrillingly vivid. Like the way Shindou said “Play me” as though if Akira refused, the world would crumble.

One day Akira would learn to refuse Shindou but clearly that day was not today.

“Fine,” he said, resigning himself to his fate.“And what if I lose?”

“I get to ask you a question too,” Shindou said.

“You...you want to ask something?” Akira asked, curious at the apprehension in Shindou’s voice.

“Yes.”

“You’re on,” Akira said, not giving it another thought.

Shindou nodded and brought out the folded go set that had seen much action on the Shinkansen ride over.

***

“Touya, you forgot,” Shindou said, tapping his fingers against the can.

“Sorry,” Akira said, realizing that he’d just played a _hane_ and that he needed to drink. He reached for his own can only to remember that it was empty. “It’s done,” he said.

“Here,” Shindou said, moving his own can over. “This is the last one, so we will have to share.”

Akira took a sip from Shindou’s can, ignoring the voice in his head telling him about indirect kisses and other such nonsense, and focused his eyes on the goban. Unaccustomed to drinking of any kind, his head started swimming by the chuuban and hasn’t stopped since. Shindou looked better for wear, and played better too, Akira had to admit not without a touch of envy. Shindou really did not care how often their stones touched or how much he drank.

Perhaps, he just had more experience with Drunk Go. He did say he played with Waya, after all. Frequently enough to have developed a semblance of a tolerance? At some point, Akira would really have to stop and think on exactly why that thought made him so angry. He couldn’t wait for his turn, to slam down a stone into an _atari_ and take the can from Shindou’s hands.

***

“What’s your question?”

“Touya…”

His name slipped off Shindou’s lips as though it was a quiet incantation, and he hated it. Not losing, but this—the pity in Shindou’s voice.

“What’s your question?” Akira repeated, raising his voice. It didn't come out very dignified, but well, the hell with dignity.

“Fine. It’s not my fault you can’t hold your liquor.”

“I hold my liquor just fine. You played a better game.” Calmer now, anger controlled and brought down by a few decibels. “Now ask your question.”

“Okay, okay,” Shindou said and Akira hoped to god—not the god of go, since that god clearly abandoned him tonight, but any other god that would listen—that those weren’t notes of nervousness he’d detected in Shindou’s voice. Shindou didn’t get nervous easily and if he did, that could only be a premonition of something ominous in Akira’s future.

“So you know how...Last year...When...um. I came back from Innoshima and you were at my house?”

Akira’s felt his insides swell in mortification and wished for nothing more than instant death. They never discussed 'the incident of complete delirium on Akira’s part', as Akira had dubbed it in his mind after. It didn’t change anything between either of them, at least not in ways that Akira could perceive, and that was fine, everything was fine and it would have been fine if they didn’t discuss it now. Or ever.

“Yes. I recall that,” Akira said because there was no way he didn’t remember and they both knew it.

“And you remember...how we played the game and after... you sort of...kissed me on the cheek?” Shindou was not looking at him. Instead, he was blushing at the floor between them.

“Shindou, I don’t know where you got the notion that I either have memory problems or am senile, but I remember. What was your question again?” Akira said, exceedingly proud of his ability to sound so snide in that moment.

Shindou must have found Akira snide and insufferable too, because suddenly he was on his feet, glaring at him. 

“My damn question is….what the fuck was that about? I mean.” He sighed. “Was it just ‘let me comfort you’ friendly sort of a peck? Or was it…”

“Or was it what?” Akira pressed.

“Something more,” Shindou said after a pause, a determined glint appearing in his eyes. He looked like he was not going to back off now.

“What do you think?” Akira asked.

“What? You don’t get to ask me a question. I am the one asking.”

Akira had grown tired of Shindou looming over him and got up as well.

“You really are an idiot if you can’t answer it yourself,” Akira said.

“I think I know the answer,” Shindou said coming up on Akira and reaching out to touch his cheek. It was not a very gentle touch, but the contact still felt intimate and hot against Akira’s already scorching skin. Tilting Akira’s chin, Shindou brought their faces into dangerous proximity. “But I want to hear it from you.”

There was fog in Akira’s head, precipitated by alcohol and a long day, and no matter what he tried, no coherent thought penetrated that fog. What did Shindou expect him to say? 

“It was something more. You are correct.” Akira locked eyes with Shindou for a few seconds before tearing himself away from his touch. Not the most satisfactory reply, true, but it answered Shindou’s question, as per the game’s rules, and Akira didn’t feel particularly inclined to divulge more.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” Akira said and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Shindou asked.

“To the bathroom, if you must know. And then outside, to breathe some fresh air and attempt to salvage the last shreds of my dignity.”

“You are such a drama queen,” Shindou said and let out a shaky laugh.

***

Akira sat down on the sand and wrapped his arms around himself. The wind whipped at his hair, nothing at all like the summer breeze that caressed them all throughout the day.

He tried lying on his back, hoping that the contact with the cold sand would serve as a distraction from the nausea rising up in him. But even as he lay firmly on the ground, everything was spinning out of his control like he was watching the world from a carousel ride. When he closed his eyes, the darkness too was a jarring jumble of colors, and his thoughts a vortex of images and touches, with Shindou at the epicenter, dragging him under.

“Found you,” he heard someone’s voice.

“Shindou,” he said, opening his eyes. The night sky once again blurred into distant colors.

“Oh good, I thought you passed out,” Shindou said and sat down next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Akira lied.

Shindou laughed. “Of course. It was stupid to think that something as trivial as alcohol would have any effect on you.”

Akira sat up on the sand, trying to take a better look at Shindou, because he didn’t fare well against him when he couldn’t see his eyes. But it was dark, the lights from the ryokan barely reaching them that far off on the beach, and Akira could only discern the shape of Shindou's face. 

Shindou didn't care that he was being watched and continued on blithely—

“I mean, I don’t know. You are always so in control. So perfect,” he said. “Except when it comes to me, I guess.”

Akira gritted his teeth in annoyance. They weren’t going to talk about him and his feelings for Shindou. They just weren’t. 

“What did you expect me to do when I’m drunk?” Akira asked.

“I don’t know. Something horribly embarrassing. Like sing a love ballad.”

“Why on earth would I do something like that?”

“Because Ogata-san said you sing well and I’ve been imagining it ever since.”

“Ogata-san...What?” Akira said, deliberating who he wanted to murder more in that instant, Ogata-san consorting with Shindou or Shindou employing Ogata-san to dig up the dirt on him and then going about his life imagining Akira singing love ballads. What was wrong with the world? And most importantly, what was wrong with Shindou?

“Yes, he told me all about that time you went to karaoke for some celebration. Though he wouldn’t tell me which songs you picked,” Shindou said. “Me and you should go to karaoke sometime.”

“We really shouldn't."

“Fine.” Shindou said. “Apparently you are good at go and singing. Any other hidden talents I need to know about?”

Akira wondered if the question was an innuendo. Probably not. And Shindou was wrong, and alcohol most certainly had an effect on him. Fuck.

“No, I am absolutely useless at everything else.”

“That’s impossible,” Shindou said. “You are Touya Akira.”

“No, you have the wrong idea about me. I am an utter failure.”

Shindou laughed.

“I can’t cook. Remember that time I tried to make omurice and you refused to try it?”

“I am still not sure that lump of unidentifiable burnt mass was omurice.”

“Oh, and one time my grandmother asked me to participate in a ritual dance at her temple. I was hopeless at it,” Akira said.

“Are you saying you can’t dance?”

“Yes, Shindou. That’s precisely what I am saying. Are you satisfied now?”

Shindou was laughing again, louder now, and Akira thought he rather liked that sound.

“Is it really that amusing?” Akira asked.

“Yes,” Shindou said, springing to his feet. “In fact, we should dance.”

“Shindou, don’t be ridiculous,” Akira stammered. 

“I am serious," Shindou said, offering his hand. "Come on."

Akira looked down at the hand and felt very compelled to take it. Not because he wanted to dance, that was sheer madness, and he didn’t even think he was capable of such a thing, but because Shindou’s hand was probably warm and stabilizing and somehow his mind convinced him that's exactly what he needed right now.

He took Shindou’s hand and let him help him up. In the process, Shindou reached for his waist and pulled him close, not entirely suave, because they hobbled and almost lost balance but it worked out Shindou had him firmly in position, their bodies almost pressing, their hands locked in the air. 

“Alright,” Shindou said and pulled him along, humming a tune, presumably to keep a rhythm, but Akira couldn’t discern what it was exactly. The swirled and moved, their feet tripping and getting in each other's way, hitting sand dunes and sinking into holes. Akira was smiling, because it was only too ridiculous, and at some point, they were going to fall.

“What are you humming, Hikaru?”

“I like it when you call me Hikaru,” he said, letting go of Akira’s waist and twirling him around. Akira spun and ended up with his chest pressed against Hikaru, his arm firmly around Hikaru’s shoulder. _How did that happen_ , he thought wildly and put some space between them.

“You do,” Akira said, suddenly feeling very delirious.

Shindou pulled him closer, and grabbing Akira’s waist with both hands, raised him in the air. Except he didn’t factor in that Akira didn’t weigh the equivalent of a folding goban and that it would require effort and strength on his part to hold him up, so just as Akira’s feet left the sand, Hikaru’s hands gave out and all of Akira’s weight slammed down on him, knocking them both on the ground.

Shindou moaned in pain as Akira’s head connected with his.

“Damn, you are heavy,” Shindou said.

“I am not that heavy,” Akira managed, sprawled on top of Shindou.

Shindou tilted his head back and laughed. “I am sorry.”

Akira hasn’t stopped smiling since he’d taken Shindou’s hand.

Then Shindou stopped laughing abruptly, and even though Akira still couldn’t see his expression very well he imagined it was the serious sort. The one that signaled that there was no going back from this.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Shindou asked. “Or…” he paused, “you need me crying for that to happen?”

“What?” Akira said, utterly bewildered.

And then he remembered last year. “Oh,” he whispered.

“I am not really in the mood now, but I can try,” Shindou went on.

“Shut up,” Akira said and covered Shindou’s mouth with his own.

Or at least he tried, after he made a very good, calculated bet on where Shindou’s mouth should be, but he still somehow managed to miss it. He wasn’t very far off, because he was kissing Shindou’s cheek again, Akira realized, thinking about life and how it always came a full circle in the most unexpected ways, and continuing to place light kisses, he felt his way towards his lips. He stopped when he reached the corner of Shindou’s mouth, because he felt it curve into a smile and for a second he feared that both of them were going to start laughing and the moment would shatter without running its full course, or at least a course that Akira had just mapped out in his head with frightening clarity. Luckily, his fears were unfounded because Shindou reached out to Akira’s head, entwining his fingers in his windblown hair, and pressed him down until they were finally kissing.

Shindou kissed unhurriedly, as though they had all the time in the world, and he was going to ask Akira to share it with him. His tongue swept over Akira’s lower lip, drawing out a moan from him, and taking the chance to tease its way inside. Akira’s stomach twisted in pure pleasure as he straddled Hikaru’s hips, moving back and forth, feeling Shindou jerk his hips up, pressing just as hard back.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” Shindou said somewhere in a space between a moan and a kiss.

Akira stopped and pulled away.

“What? Why?” Shindou gasped.

There wasn’t a good reason, really. Except they were better ways of doing this, Akira was sure. Perhaps in their hotel room. He was going to propose that as soon as his heartbeat relented.

He sat by Shindou’s side, and taking his hand into his own, he whispered, “We should go back.”

“Okay,” Shindou said, because he seemed to have caught up on the fact that they could be doing the things they were just doing in a place that didn’t have sand and wind.

They walked back holding hands.

“Shindou, why did you bring me here?” Akira decided to ask, before the urge to grind against him until they both came in their pants, or in this case, in their yukatas, overtook him again.

“I just wanted you to come here with me,” he replied, making some gestures with his hands that could only mean he was attempting to brush off the sand from his hair in vain.

“There is something else,” Akira said. “The way you phrased your question earlier…”

“Yes?”

“You said… ‘was it something more?’ Something more? What does that mean?”

They came upon the threshold that separated the beach and the sidewalk. There was more light now and Akira could see Shindou. He looked very tired, as did Akira, probably.

“I don’t know,” Shindou said.

Akira stopped and pulled his hand away. 

“That’s not good enough,” Akira whispered.

“Maybe none of this will ever be good enough for you,” Shindou said, sounding angry all of the sudden and Akira realized it was just like one of their usual post-game arguments, that didn’t mean anything, that were just an expression of some other undercurrent that brimmed beneath the surface of their words.

“Maybe,” Akira said, because he could play along too. He stepped away. 

“Wait,” Shindou said, grabbing his wrist. 

“What?” Akira asked icily, looking back at Shindou.

“I meant it, ” Shindou said, letting go of Akira's wrist. “I don’t know what ‘something more’ means and that’s the truth. I never knew since I met you. I knew I wanted you to be my rival, always, but this? I don’t know. Does it even have a word? I am perfectly content with just playing go with you. And it doesn’t mean anything has to change between us. But I wouldn’t mind if it did. If there was something more, that is.”

“You wouldn’t mind,” Akira said slowly.

“No, wait. Bad choice of words. What I mean to say...God, you are making it hard on me on purpose. You just want a full-blown confession, don’t you?”

“I don’t want anything from you that you aren’t willing to give. Wait. You are confessing?"

Shindou made a strangled kind of noise and said, “You really are an idiot if you can’t see it for yourself.”

“Don’t throw my own words back at me,” Akira said.

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so stubborn.”

Akira closed his eyes, picturing a goban and stones. But he could still hear Shindou’s voice.

“And proud.”

Akira imagined stones sliding down off the goban.

“And ridiculous.”

A rivulet of stones. A waterfall of stones. All of it falling into a bottomless pit.

“And beautiful.”

Akira opened his eyes.

“And incredible,” Shindou finished, his voice soft and resigned.


End file.
